


Not Even the Rain

by LSquared80



Series: Not Even the Rain [1]
Category: Mad Men
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-22 03:42:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3713626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LSquared80/pseuds/LSquared80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ted is back in New York and working hard to appear happy. Set vaguely after "Severance."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Not Even the Rain

(i do not know what it is about you that closes  
and opens; only something in me understands  
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)  
Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands  
-ee cummings

i.

Ted was seduced out of his apartment by the muffled soundtrack of his neighbor’s cocktail party – music, the din of female laughter and drunken conversation, the frequent opening and closing of the elevator doors. He changed clothes and trimmed his mustache. He wandered across the hall and rang the buzzer. The door opened a moment later, unleashing the noise and vibrant color of the kind of celebration that promised adventure and a wealth of stories to tell the guys at the office.

Gail, his neighbor and the host, walked in Ted’s direction. She teetered on the heels of her platform shoes, reaching for his arm to steady her long legs. “Teddy! You changed your mind,” she purred. She waved a trio of interchangeable blondes over and said, “Girls, this is my neighbor, Ted. He just moved back here from Los Angeles.”

“Well, not just,” he reminded her. It had been long enough to finalize a divorce and arrange a custody agreement that had his sons flying east every two months and for longer during the summer.

Women seemed to be impressed by the brief time he was a Californian. The petite waitress with dimples who left her phone number on his lunch counter receipt wanted to know if he ever saw any movie stars. A model auditioning for a new Topaz spot wanted to hear tales of sun and sand. One of Gail’s friends sidled up to Ted and asked, “What did you miss about New York while you were out there?”

“Central Park when the leaves change color,” he said. “Good bagels. The rain.” He paused, his lips parted, and left something unsaid.

Peggy.

“You must be happy now,” she remarked, gesturing toward the sliding doors that opened onto Gail’s balcony and to the pattern of raindrops on the glass.

Ted smiled reflexively. He should have been happy living in Manhattan in a bachelor pad that put him in close quarters with women like Gail and her friends. He should have been happy to experience all four seasons and frequent rain showers and thunderstorms. But he was still putting on an act. The setting had changed, and his character was different, but he was still pretending. There was still something missing.

x

Daylight was a gray haze pouring through the open window. Ted lifted his head from the pillow and squinted at the clock beside his bed. He rolled onto his back, to the middle of the mattress, and spread his arms wide across the empty space. He had been at Gail’s party into the wee hours of the morning, but there was no lipstick smeared around his mouth or warm, naked body curled against his.

Ted stared at the ceiling and recalled the way Gail had introduced him to another divorced man. “Look at you two,” she had said, her arms around them both, “living the bachelor life.” For Ted that meant having a hangover without the debauchery. It was feeling the guilt and shame of leaving a one-night stand without having experienced the pleasure of the casual sex that preceded.

There had been two women in Ted’s bed since he moved back to New York. Sharon was a blind date he took to dinner twice more after their initial meeting and not again after an ultimately unsatisfying coupling. Lila was a secretary from Booth Brady and McGraw who stripped down to her slip and promptly passed out; he spent that night sleeping fitfully on the sofa.

He tried to be the kind of single man who bedded women without bothering to learn their names, but Ted fared as well as he did at trying to be the kind of married man who didn’t cheat on his wife.

x

“Aren’t you having fun?” Pete asked as he claimed the empty stool beside Ted.

P.J. Clarke’s was loud and threads of smoke swirled in the air. A mug of beer sweated on the bar. Ted curled his fingers around its handle and took a drink. He wiped his thumb across his mustache, clearing away the foam that clung to the wiry hairs. “I am,” he answered.

“I don’t believe you. What’s wrong with you, Ted? You were miserable in Los Angeles. All you ever did was talk about New York. Now you’re here and you don’t talk about Los Angeles but you certainly don’t-”

“I’m having fun,” Ted said weakly.

Pete shook his head and signaled the bartender to refill his glass. “Buying a place in the city didn’t make you happy. I didn’t see you crack a smile when that blonde in the short skirt sat next to you. Not even this godforsaken rain makes you happy.”

Their eyes were drawn to the entrance, to the feminine curves and bright colors of a small group of women. Peggy was at the forefront, shaking rain from her umbrella. She removed the jacket that matched her dress and transformed her office attire into a beguiling halter dress.

“Is that what it would take?” Pete asked.

Ted stared straight ahead. His throat closed in, trapping the air in his lungs until his chest burned. He watched Peggy turn her back to him, baring the expanse of her back that was revealed by the large cut-out in her dress, between where it tied around her neck and rested in the middle of her spine. He was familiar with the texture of the skin between her shoulder blades and clenched his hand into a fist. “It doesn’t matter,” Ted answered quietly. “I broke her heart. I don’t deserve her.”

Pete nodded and held his gaze on Peggy as she settled into a booth. “That may be true, but you do deserve another drink.”

x

There were enough people in P.J. Clarke’s that Ted could pretend Peggy wasn’t there. He could ignore her until the crowd that separated them parted from time to time, and he would spy her laughing or taking a sip from a highball or exiting the ladies’ room with a fresh layer of pink on her lips.

Ted gave up on avoiding her after he lost count of how many drinks he had consumed. He openly watched her come and go from the booth she was sharing with Stan and Mathis and his wife. He was on the verge of stumbling to her when he felt a warm palm settle on his shoulder and a soft voice asked, “Are you married?”

He looked at the young woman beside him. He hesitated and answered, “No.”

“Good. Because I’m tired of meeting married men. I’m Sheila.”

Ted waved the bartender over and paid for Sheila’s martini. He listened to her talk about her apartment and her boss but all he could think was that she shouldn’t have asked if he was married, but rather Are you in love? His eyes were drawn again to Peggy – his true North – and he understood it wasn’t a legality that tethered one person to another, but the powerful, insane, glorious endearment of love. And Ted understood nothing would make him happy until he severed that tie to Peggy or she allowed him to repair it. 

“Do you want to get out of here, Sheila?” he asked.

She smiled, drained her glass, and reached across his lap to set it on the bar. “Lead the way.”

Ted stood and the stool wobbled in his wake. He put his arm around Sheila and guided her toward the door, slowing as they passed the booth Peggy occupied. He only had a matter of seconds to decipher her expression – disgust or pity or regret – and to convey with his own melancholy eyes that he was miserable and sorry and she was right to hate him.


	2. Chapter 2

**ii.**

In the bar Sheila was petite with platinum hair but in the dark of her bedroom she could be anyone Ted wanted her to be.

He closed his eyes and it was Peggy’s hair soft around his fingers. It was her breast filling the palm of his hand. Her lips dropping kisses from his neck to his chest and her hands clasped together at the back of his neck.

x

It was discomfiting to wake in a stranger’s bedroom. Ted inched to the edge of the mattress and stood in slow motion, careful not to disturb Sheila’s sleep. His bare feet padded across the floor to collect his clothes. He carried them tucked under his arm, almost dropping one shoe but catching it before it could smack against the floor.

He got dressed in front of her television set, his gaze pointed at the door – at his exit. Ted wondered what other men, the men he worked with, felt as they crept out of a one-night stand’s apartment? Did Don feel a sense of accomplishment? Was Roger eager to gloat about his conquest? Would Harry have been smiling on his way out the door as he dragged a hand across his mouth to clear traces of lipstick?

Ted turned the lock and opened the door, stepping into a vaguely familiar hallway with green carpet. He decided to head to the right and found the staircase. He made a mad dash to the vestibule and pushed through the door, welcoming the cool balm of the morning air. He walked down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets and a sour taste in his mouth.

x

He walked through reception with his head down, only acknowledging the girl behind the desk with a brief wave of his hand. Ted sailed through the corridor and bypassed the row of open doors where his colleagues were already at work. He heard Moira greet him and ask if he wanted coffee, and he dismissed her with a flippant, “Not now,” as he closed himself inside his office.

Ted stood in the middle of the room and plotted his first order of business. He had gone home and showered and changed his clothes, but he didn’t feel refreshed. He wanted to claim the sofa and stay there all day, forgoing the Avon meeting and whatever else was on his schedule.

He took a seat behind his desk and stared at the mostly empty surface. There were neat stacks of folders and the usual office paraphernalia – pencil cup, paperweight, rolodex – along the perimeter, but hardly any work. It looked like the desk of a man who was still operating out of Los Angeles ninety percent of the time.

“I’ll take that coffee now,” Ted spoke into the intercom.

A moment later Moira knocked and entered with a mug filled to the rim. She lowered it gingerly onto the desk and asked, “Anything else, Mr. Chaough?”

He shook his head. He waited for the sound of the door sealing shut to take his first sip. The warm liquid slid down his throat and he felt the sear into his chest. Ted considered adding a healthy dose of whiskey but didn’t have the energy to stand and walk to the bar cart. He reached instead for the nearest folder and opened it to see his notes from the last Wilkinson meeting, and underneath that a few photos of women modeling the furs.

Ted had seen many young women parade across a room, made to look nude under a luxurious fur. He had started going to casting more often and stood around afterward with the likes of Harry and Don, smiling and nodding as the models were reduced to a series of descriptors – nice legs, too short, plump lips. He thought about the women at Gail’s parties and his blind dates and Sheila. Ted walked away from the parties or someone’s bed smelling like a stranger’s perfume and the intimate details of her apartment – the patchouli incense burning on the bedside table, talcum powder. His mind wandered to the brief time he spent in bed with Peggy. Her cheek had rested on his chest and he’d been able to smell her shampoo and hairspray. Chanel No. 5. Sweat. A sandalwood candle masking the faint odor of cigarette smoke.

Ted regretted leaving her bed. He regretted showering the fragrance of Peggy’s perfume and sheets and whiskey-soaked kisses from his skin and returning to Nan. He should have stayed, and there would have been no Los Angeles and no awkward blind dates and no Sheila. He wouldn’t be struggling to come up with twenty-five tags for fur coats. He would be sitting beside Peggy, bouncing ideas back and forth before a presentation, and walking with her in the rain to see a movie. He would be happy.

“Mr. Chaough,” Moira’s voice crackled across the speaker. “You’re going to be late for Avon.”

x

Every few months the executives arrived with a box of products, and the first thirty minutes of the meeting was the women of the office dabbing the perfume on their wrists and drawing a stripe of lipstick across the top of their hands before deciding what to take.

Ted walked into the conference room to a chorus of delighted women checking their reflections in small, circular mirrors and rummaging through a box of cosmetics. A few of the secretaries stepped away from the table and he was suddenly facing Peggy. She had squeezed a circle of lotion on her palm and was rubbing her hands together, her fingers stroking across her knuckles and wrists and sweeping along her arm. She looked pleased until she caught his eye. It was then Ted was treated to her default expression around him, and it was a look that withered his heart. He was always deflating Peggy’s joy, stealing her amusement.

She set the tube down and he reached to pick it up. He read the label to himself. _Hawaiian White Ginger_. It made the air between them smell like citrus and dewy flora with a kick of spice. “You should take it,” he told Peggy. “It suits you.”

She shook her head. “It’s been discontinued.”

x

He looked for her in the bar, or for a woman Peggy’s height and build. A brunette prone to whiskey.

Ted settled for buying a tall woman her third pink squirrel. Her brassy hair was tied into a complicated bun. She didn’t have a memorable laugh and he couldn’t hold onto her name. But the bar was dark enough and he was drunk enough that her features blurred and he could rearrange them into the visage he wanted.

They were standing on the sidewalk about to share a cab when Ted was overcome with shame for how easily he could manipulate a woman into his fantasy, disregarding her identity and feelings. “I’m sorry-” he said, and paused where he should have been able to insert her name. “I’m not feeling well.”

Ted sent her off in the taxi. Whether it was the shame or the liquor he didn’t know, but his stomach churned and bile burned the back of his throat. He was closer to the office than to home, and when another cab stopped at the curb he said, “Time Life, please.”

x

There was a time Ted prided himself on being dignified and so distinctive from the other ad men, but as he stumbled from the men’s room to the kitchen smelling like cigarette smoke and with the raspberry stain of lipstick on his neck, he knew he’d become unremarkable. One of many.

Ted opened a cabinet and stared at mostly empty shelves. The only liquor was on the top shelf, toward the back. He dragged a chair across the room and climbed onto the seat, but the sole of his boot slipped on the edge and he lost his balance, falling backward.

His body hit the floor with a smack and the chair toppled over. Ted lifted his head and shoulders, supporting himself on his elbows, his legs splayed in front of him. That was how Peggy found him.

“I, uh…” Ted stammered.

She rolled her eyes. She stepped over him to pick up the chair and replace it at the table. “Did you hurt yourself?” Peggy asked.

He shook his head. He made a move to get up, but he was dizzy from the fall and the embarrassment and Peggy’s unexpected appearance. She glowered at him before reaching down, wiggling her fingers until he took hold of her hand. She was Ted’s anchor as he climbed awkwardly to his feet, and he held her gaze as he squeezed her hand.

She wrenched out of his grasp and asked again, “You’re okay?”

“Yes.”

Peggy gave him one curt nod of her head and pivoted away. She had one peep-toe heel out the door.

“No,” Ted blurted.

She paused.

He could see the way she tensed – how her muscles went rigid under the silken fabric of her blouse. “No, I’m not.”

Peggy waited a beat before turning around.

Ted closed the distance between them. He took a deep breath, trying to find a trace of the citrus and spice lingering on her skin.

“What hurts?” she asked, barely audible.

The tremor in her voice and the shine in her eyes, the proximity of her lips and hands, broke Ted’s resolve to honor her wishes. He reached up to frame her face and leaned forward. Peggy’s protest died on her lips as he opened his mouth against hers. The kiss was static until he felt her fingers clutch a handful of his shirt. The contact encouraged Ted, and he slid his tongue against hers and dropped both hands to her hips and backed her up against the wall.

Peggy lost herself in the kiss. When she finally pushed him away, one side of his shirt was hanging over the waistband of his pants and his tie was crooked. “I’m sorry,” Ted said, holding his hands up as he took a step backward.

“You’re drunk,” she stated plainly.

“I am. But I’m also… I miss you, Pe-”

“Don’t,” she snapped.

Ted shrugged. “It’s the tr-”

“Don’t. This can’t happen, remember? You promised. You have to keep that promise, Ted,” Peggy said, and she left him with the sound of her heels tapping against the floor until there was only the labored beat of his heart, and the memory she conjured.

_The divorce wasn’t finalized, but he had signed the lease for an apartment in Manhattan and the boys had started school in Los Angeles. The end of Ted’s marriage was a formality – a matter of time and signing a few checks and several dotted lines._

_He owed Don a debt of gratitude for referring a lawyer and a real estate agent, and Ted made his way across the floor to Meredith’s desk. “Is he in?”_

_She smiled and said, “Not yet. I expect him any minute.”_

_“I’ll wait inside.”_

_Meredith stood. “Good. I have to run an errand for Joan. If he comes in-”_

_“I’ll tell him you only stepped away for a second,” Ted said with a wink. He walked into Don’s office and left the door halfway open. He poured a drink and studied the new artwork above the sofa._

_“You didn’t tell me- Oh.”_

_Ted turned at the sound of Peggy’s voice. He smiled. “Don’s not in yet.”_

_“I see. I’ll come back.”_

_He spoke to her fleeting figure. “You could wait with me. Have a drink. Tell me how the Burger Chef commercial is-”_

_“No,” Peggy said, but she closed the door, sealing the two of them in the room. She folded her hands behind her back. “You’re not on Burger Chef. You can hear about it in the partners meeting with everyone else. Or you can ask Don or Harry.”_

_Ted’s lips parted to speak but he couldn’t form any words._

_“We both know you’re not very good at keeping promises, Ted, but there’s one I need you to keep.”_

_“What’s that?” he asked._

_Peggy straightened her spine. “We work together but that’s all. I don’t want to hear about your divorce. I don’t want you asking about my dates. You have to stop coming into my office under the pretense of wanting or needing to know about a campaign. The only time you and I talk to each other should be when it’s required for work. Can you promise that?”_

_“Peggy, I-”_

_“Ted? Please. I’ve moved on but I want to stay… moved on. I don’t want our history interfering with work.”_

_He tried to lighten the mood and smiled. “I thought you can’t believe a word I say?” he reminded her playfully._

_“I’m serious, Ted. If you want me to ever trust you again, if you want me to think well of you… promise you’ll keep our relationship professional. Promise you won’t talk about our past or show up at my door or… just promise you’ll keep your distance.”_

_His smile drooped. He was well aware of how badly he’d hurt her, but Ted had been hoping his divorce would be an act of contrition, and that working alongside Peggy again would stoke the flames of their professional and personal connection. “Okay,” Ted said. “I promise.”_

He shook himself out of the memory and collapsed into one of the chairs at the small table. He was sobered by the kiss and by a renewed determination to right wrongs. Ted never wanted to hurt Peggy again, but he was going to have to break another promise to her.


	3. Not Even the Rain

iii.

“Coming with us, Ted?” 

He looked at Pete and the men filing out of the conference room. “Not this time,” Ted said. 

“You sure? Roger’s stewardess is bringing friends.”

Ted swept his paperwork into a folder and tucked it under his arm. “I’m sure.”

“Suit yourself.”

Ted followed a ways behind Pete, veering in the opposite direction toward his office. It was the third consecutive time he’d declined an invitation for drinks after work. He felt better for it, and his contributions to the Wilkinson campaign had improved greatly. 

He spent another hour behind his desk and gathered his things to leave. Ted was disappointed to pass Peggy’s office and find it empty and dark, but his lips twitched into a smile when he caught sight of her at the elevators. “Hello,” he said, joining her. 

“Hi,” Peggy responded with a polite nod. 

“Big plans for the evening?” 

She kept her gaze locked on the elevator doors. “No. You?”

“No. Going home,” he told her, and the doors finally parted. Ted gestured for Peggy to enter first and followed her inside the small space. She occupied one corner and he the other. _Just promise you’ll keep your distance._

The two of them walked across the empty lobby and Ted held the door open for Peggy to exit ahead of him. “Have a good night,” he told her and dutifully turned in the opposite direction. It was satisfying to respect her decisions, but his sense of honor was fleeting. Ted stopped at the corner and turned around to watch her retreat further away. 

x

Meredith was hugging her arms around three bottles of liquor and Shirley followed her into the conference room with two bags of take-out from the deli across the street. “What’s going on?” Ted called out from the doorway of his office. 

No one heard him over the ruckus coming from inside the conference room. Ted was able to pick out the cheerful din of Peggy’s laughter among the overlapping noise of conversation and clamoring for drinks and food. He cast a quick glance at his desk and the work he was in the middle of. With a shrug he ventured into the hallway and nearly collided with Meredith. “What’s going on?” he asked again.

“Mr. Crane got an advanced copy of the next episode of I Dream of Jeannie,” she explained. “He says it’s going to be the last one ever. Better get a seat before they’re all gone.”

Ted peeked around the doorframe. It appeared most of the secretaries had left their posts to gather around the table, all of the chairs angled to face the television Harry had wheeled in. Mathis was seated to the left of Peggy, and the only two empty chairs were to the right of her and on the opposite side of the table. He opted to lean against the cabinet that occupied the wall behind her. 

The lights were turned off and Harry closed the blinds on the windows. Everyone focused on the screen, mindlessly eating sandwiches and chips from paper plates. The women were rapt and Pete had to pour his own drink. Ted spent more time looking at the back of Peggy’s head, and seeing her shoulders bounce when she laughed, than watching the show. 

Everyone laughed at the right parts – a masculine cowboy wearing a pink floral apron, an argument between husband and wife. But during a moment when the room was relatively quiet, it was only Ted and Peggy who chuckled – loudly – at a mention of advertising and endorsements. She turned to look at him, her smile intact. He reveled in their shared amusement but made a point of being the one to look away first. 

x

“Next on the agenda,” Joan said, “is Koss.” 

All eyes were on Ted. He squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. “I’m going there this week. They want to discuss a prototype for what they’re calling…” He paused and looked down at the notes scrawled on the first page of a yellow legal pad. “…professional, noise-cancelling headphones. The big push is that the sound is equal to live music. They’ve been on the verge of pulling their business for months. I know there was a time we thought we could afford to lose them, but this product would be a stand-out.”

“Great,” Pete chimed in. “Let’s hear your ideas.”

“Well, there’s… I haven’t really…”

“You’re taking Peggy?” Joan asked.

Ted flinched. He hoped the stretch of silence that followed her question only felt like an uncomfortable eternity. His mouth was dry, and his hand reached for a glass of water that wasn’t there. He curled his fingers into a fist on the table and said, “No. It’s just me and Pete.”

“They want Peggy,” she explained.

“I don’t… this is the first I’m hearing of it,” Ted stammered.

Joan offered a slight, apologetic smile. “They called this morning. I was under the impression this was all worked out.” 

“I missed the memo. I’ll talk to Peggy.”

x

Ted heard the soft slap of loafers following him out of the meeting and toward his office. He stopped at the doorway and let Don enter ahead of him. 

“I’ll go in Peggy’s place,” Don said.

Ted shook his head. “They’ll want Peggy. Koss was on the verge of leaving CGC when she took over their creative and… they don’t want anyone else.”

“Then I’ll go in your place.”

The intercom crackled and Moira’s voice announced, “Ms. Olson is here.”

Don looked at Ted expectantly. 

“Send her in,” Ted shouted. 

The door popped open and surprise registered on Peggy’s face at the sight of the two men huddled together, both looking grave. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can come back.”

“I was leaving,” Don said. He walked to the door and stopped to say, “Ted, you’ll let me know?”

“Yes. Thanks,” he answered.

The door sealed shut with a click. A protracted stillness and lack of sound followed until they both spoke at the same time. 

“Did anyone tell you-”

“If you don’t want me to-”

Ted gestured for Peggy to speak first and she said, “It was bound to happen as long as we both work here. The client shouldn’t suffer because of… It’s a business trip.”

He nodded. He tried to ignore the swell in his chest – the thrill of her acceptance. “I agree. I can fly us-”

“No,” Peggy interrupted. “I’m taking the train. It’s a business trip, Ted. If the client wants to have dinner or drinks we’ll have dinner or drinks. But don’t think this means anything more than that.”

x

Ted landed without incident, and the drive from the small airport was quick enough to put him at the hotel hours ahead of Peggy and Pete. He unpacked and visited the vending machine and called the boys in Los Angeles. In between every activity he called the front desk and asked, “Has Ms. Olson checked in yet?”

The hotel was a suburban location – nestled between a chain restaurant and a strip of shops. It was the middle of the day and nothing on television appealed to Ted. He stood at the window, watching dark clouds chase away the blue sky. 

His boredom led to an exploration of the mini bar. Ted removed all of the small bottles and dumped them on the bed. He passed the time developing a pitch for each one – who could be the face of Smirnoff, assigning each a literary character, thinking up a sexy slogan for di Saronno. It wasn’t long before he twisted the cap on a bottle of Ballantine’s and grimaced as it scorched a path down the back of his throat. 

The phone rang when Ted had three empty bottles lined up on the bed. He knocked it off the bedside table and grabbed the receiver from the floor. “Hello?”

The voice on the other end of the line said, “You wanted to know when Ms. Olson checked in.” 

Ted hung up. He scrambled off the bed, looking at himself in the mirror. He straightened his tie and put his suit coat on, then clumsily shook his arms out of the sleeves. He went into the bathroom and filled a glass with lukewarm water, gulping it down. 

x

He arrived at room 308 smelling like the musk and mandarin in his cologne, and the spearmint of his toothpaste. Ted knocked on the door and heard the rustle of Peggy moving about the room. He adopted a straighter posture when he heard the jingle of the chain lock. 

“Hi,” she greeted him. “I was going to call you. I thought we were all going to meet downstairs?”

Ted smiled and shrugged. “I wanted to make sure you’re room is okay.” 

Peggy narrowed her eyes. “Uh, well… It’s fine. Let me put my shoes on.”

He reached out to stop the door from closing and leaned against the doorframe. She turned her back and Ted tried to conceal a belch behind his hand, but Peggy heard and glared at him for a brief moment. 

She removed the Koss folder from her suitcase and said, “Let’s go.” 

Ted stepped further into the room and let the door close. “Your view is different,” he noted, heading for the window. He made such an effort not to walk in a crooked line, and his concentration showed on his face and in his measured gait. 

Peggy heaved a sigh. “Ted.”

“I didn’t realize they had a pool.” 

“Ted, Pete’s waiting. We should-”

He turned and walked closer, taking the folder from her. He took hold of the chair at the small writing desk and turned it around. Ted sat and opened the folder on her lap. “We can wait,” he said. “Let the dinner crowd filter out.”

Peggy folded her arms. 

“Is this your favorite? The one circled?” he asked, holding up a sheet of paper with her notes. 

“You know, we don’t need to discuss this before the meeting. They’re not expecting finished work,” Peggy said, and she walked only close enough to reach and grab hold of the corner of the paper. 

Ted let her take it. “If you’re comfortable with that,” he said. “How about room service?”

“No. I think you should leave. We agreed this is a business trip. We only need to share a meal with the client. You shouldn’t be in my room.”

He looked wounded, felt the droop of his facial muscles and his shoulders. His eyes shifted to the bed behind her – the bedspread with a floral pattern stitched into the gold fabric, identical to the one in his room. “A business dinner,” he offered.

Peggy shuffled to the door, reaching behind her back, her fingers loosely curled around the knob. “Don’t do this, Ted. Don’t make me regret agreeing to this trip.”

“You decided it was okay,” he reminded her as he stood, and the chair wobbled in his wake. 

“I did. Koss likes you. They trust you. I want the agency to retain their business. But now I wonder…”

“What?” he pressed, a bark of anger in the way he spit the word out.

Peggy opened the door. “I wonder which Ted they’re going to meet with tomorrow? The one they remember? Or this one,” she said, pointing toward him before her hand went to her hip. “The one who overdoes it at the bar? The one with stale ideas? The one with the… with the stupid mustache?”

Ted winced, reeling back an inch. 

She softened her voice and her expression. “You should get some rest, Ted.”

He nodded and she moved aside, giving him room to exit. He turned to face her as the door shut and he heard the lock rattle into place. Ted let his forehead rest against the door, landing with more force than he intended. He could smell his breath – the spearmint losing out to the layers of liquor. 

It was a long time before he turned away and sulked toward the elevators. He approached the window there and lifted the curtain. He could see his reflection in the glass. He thought about CGC and hiring Peggy and the merger and the night he decided not to fight his feelings. It seemed to Ted that his decision to abandon Peggy and move to Los Angeles and his subsequent divorce had changed him. He thought he was bound to the persona of a man moping his way through a job he’d lost his passion for and a divorce and unrequited longing for the woman he loved, but Peggy seemed to think he had a choice not to be the guy fumbling his way through a one night stand and throwing out musty ideas for the sole purpose of contributing to a meeting. He felt the corner of his mouth twitch into a smile and watched the rain splash into the pool.


End file.
